


Circle

by starbear (panda_hiiro)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 11:18:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12816384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_hiiro/pseuds/starbear
Summary: (Shiro POV) A routine exploration mission goes awry, and leaves Lance and Shiro with an inexplicable connection to each other. In attempting to untangle the new bond between them, they draw closer to each other, but is that actually a good thing?





	1. Anomaly

**Author's Note:**

> This is my piece for the 2017 Shance Big Bang, a little late but hopefully none too worse for the wear. This story has been through many, many evolutions and marks the longest piece of fiction I've written to date. It's certainly been a challenge, but hopefully the hard work paid off! 
> 
> I'll be posting the rest of the story, and the artwork to go with it, over the next few days. Please enjoy, and if you have the time, I'd love to read comments! Thank you!

“Well,” Lance says,  “What is it?”

The truth is, Shiro has no idea.

The object in question, a shimmering band of golden light approximately four feet long and half that length wide, hangs suspended mid air, like a slash cut right into the fabric of reality. It emanates a soft, warm glow, welcoming in the way a porchlight at the end of long night might be. The readout on his visor suggests it’s an energy form of some sort, though he can discern nothing further - of course, if their sensors had been able to provide any useful information about it, he and Lance wouldn’t have made the journey down to the surface of this remote planet in the first place.

“I don’t know,” Shiro says, activating the handheld scanning device Pidge had shoved in his hands before he’d left the ship. “I’m sending the data back for Pidge to analyze. Maybe she can - Lance! Don’t touch that!”  

“What? What?” Lance jerks back so suddenly that he nearly loses his footing, arms wheeling in a desperate attempt to keep himself upright. “I just wanted to see it!”

“Look with your eyes, not your hands, please,” Shiro says, with a heavy sigh.

Already he’s starting to doubt the wisdom of choosing the two least scientifically minded members of their team to investigate the strange phenomena, but Hunk and Coran are busy with ship repairs while Allura and Pidge meet with the Olkarian delegation, and Keith...well. There was probably some small amount of truth to Lance’s declaration that Keith was likely to just “stab whatever it is.” Shiro couldn’t imagine Keith would have had much interest in this planet anyway - small, thickly-forested, punctuated by craggy gray mountains that jut up like skyscrapers through the lush green surface, the whole of the planet is roughly half the size of Earth, with little in the way of life forms apart from an abundance of flora and a small scattering of relatively insignificant fauna. Upon exiting the Blue Lion Lance had immediately declared they were on the hunt for Ewoks, and had affectionately named the planet ‘Endor II.’

“Maybe we’ll fight some Stormtroopers,” Lance had said, full of eager enthusiasm.

“I’d really rather not,” Shiro had replied.

They encountered neither Ewoks nor Stormtroopers - or, indeed, lifeforms of any kind - on their trek towards the energy source Coran had detected on the planet’s surface. To Shiro, this came as a relief: for once, maybe, just once, he’d have an easy mission.

He should have known better.

“That’s strange,” Shiro says, squinting at the scanner display. “I can’t get a clear read on this thing. It’s definitely generating energy, but it’s like it’s just...coming out of thin air. Like there’s nothing actually there.”

“D’you think it’s, uh. Whatchamacallit.” Lance walks a slow circuit around the light; when he moves behind it, Shiro can still see him, distorted through the anomaly, colored in hues of gold. “Quintessential?”

“Quintessence.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Maybe.”

“Why don’t we take a sample back to the ship?” Lance stops next to Shiro, then leans towards the anomaly, shifting ribbons of light casting a warm glow on his face and glinting off the smooth surface of his helmet. “You think we can just, like, scoop some up or something?”

“Lance, don’t get so close to -”

The phrase dies on Shiro’s tongue, abruptly cut off as the light swells in intensity. Bright, so bright, sparks crackling across his vision and carrying a warmth that seems, inexplicably, to emanate not from the light itself, but from within him. He reaches for Lance in a last moment of desperation, grabs his thin arm and pulls him close, as if he could somehow shield him from this...whatever this is, that’s happening. He hears a voice that is not his own echo at the edge of his mind; he feels something, some force stronger than gravity pulling at him, something that catches in his chest and lodges there, unshakeable, unmoving.

There is light, and then everything goes white.

 

* * *

 

Shiro comes to with a strange heaviness weighing on his chest and a sharp, sour taste in his mouth. Inexplicably, he feels like he’s floating and sinking at the same time, and the unsettling contrast leaves him with a vague sense of motion-sickness. He realizes he’s lying on the ground, and as he pulls himself up he sees Lance sitting nearby, his bewildered, vacant expression no doubt mirroring Shiro's own. They stare at each other for a long moment before Lance says,

"Are you okay?"

Shiro isn't quite sure how to answer.

"I think so. You?"

"Far as I can tell? Looks like all of me is here, anyway.” Lance pulls his helmet off and scrubs at his hair. “What was that?"

Shiro looks around but there is no trace left of the gold, glowing energy, not even a scar left behind in its wake. He shudders as a shiver of dread courses through him.

“No idea.”

_“Hello? Hello?”_ Coran’s voice startles him, shrill as it echoes through the speakers in his helmet. “ _Lance? Shiro? Come in!”_

“We’re here, Coran,” Shiro says. “What’s wrong?”

_“What’s wrong?! I’ve been trying to contact you for the past twenty doboshes! There’s a Galra patrol closing in on your location. You need to get back to the Blue Lion immediately!”_

“A Galra patrol?” Lance says, “You said there weren’t any Galra ships in this sector! What are they doing here?”

“Chasing the same energy reading we were, probably,” Shiro says, grim-faced. “Coran, what are we looking at, here?”

_“Looks like they sent a small crew. One C-Class transport, maybe two or three fighter craft? Ground patrol’s got at least three soldiers about three klicks south of your position. Might be some sentries with them, can’t tell.”_

“That’s awfully vague,” Lance says. “You can’t give us anything more than that?”

“ _Ground cover’s too dense, I’m afraid. Messing with the sensors and I can’t get a visual on anything but the trees.”_

“Understood,” Shiro says, “We’re on our way back. I’ll let you know when we make it to Blue.”

He motions at Lance who nods mutely and summons his bayard as he falls into step with Shiro. It’s nearly a kilometer-long hike back to the clearing where they’d landed - south, the same direction the Galra patrol are approaching from, but if they move fast, they’ll get there well before the Galra do. Shiro reminds himself of that as he tries to tamp down the nervous energy creeping through him. The cloistered air of the forest isn’t helping; the trees here are close, and tall, impossibly tall - long, gnarled fingers outstretched towards the sky, grasping, reaching for the clear azure expanse above. Shiro can barely see the top of the canopy from his distant vantage point on the ground. Even among the stars, he has rarely felt so small.

“I don’t think it was trying to hurt us,” Lance says, suddenly, his voice loud against the quiet of the forest. “That light thing. It didn’t feel like it was bad. Don’t you think?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Shiro says. “I know it did something to us. I don’t trust whatever it was.”

“I do feel a little weird. But then again, that could just be the food goo I had for breakfast, who knows.” Lance shrugs, and rubs absently at his right arm. “I’m just saying, for the record, maybe it was trying to, I dunno. Talk to us, or something.”

“Maybe,” Shiro says, tension set in his jaw. “When we get back, I’ll have Coran run a full scan on both of us and our equipment.”

“Sounds fun,” Lance groans.

They’re almost back to the Blue Lion when Shiro hears the subtle sounds of movement from nearby. In an instant he freezes, raises his hand to signal Lance to halt, tensed as if listening with his whole body. A few seconds pass with nothing but weighted silence. Then - to their right, distinct, the heavy tread of a mechanical footfall. Shiro grabs Lance and pulls him behind the shelter of a large, gnarled tree trunk just as the sentries step onto the path - four of them, standard models, armed and attentive. If they can stay still, it’s possible they’ll move on without noticing them. Shiro still has his arm on Lance, close enough that he can feel the coiled tension in his body. Neither of them breathes. The sentries pass by, single file. Lance exhales a quiet sigh when the last of them passes. He steps forward, and his foot catches a branch, snapping it in two.

The noise echoes like a shot through the clearing, and before Shiro has time to even move the sentries have doubled back and opened fire. They’re joined by another group, coming up from the south, and while Shiro wants to wonder at how they get here so _fast_ , all he can focus on now is shielding himself and Lance from the crossfire.

“Okay, who invited these assholes?” Lance fires; the first few go wild, but the last one hits its mark and one of the sentries goes down in a shower of sparks and smoke. “This is way more than a small patrol!”

“I’ll take the group on our six out first,” Shiro says, energy pulsing through him as his right arm flares to life. “Lay down some cover fire for me - Lance?”

Lance cries out in such a sharp, abrupt way, that for a terrible moment Shiro thinks he’s been shot. When he looks back at him Lance’s bayard is on the ground and he’s clutching his right wrist, eyes wide in a strange look of incomprehensible shock.

“Shiro, I -”

This time a shot does connect, square on the left side of Lance’s chest and with another short, startled cry he goes down. But this is not the strange part.

The strange part is, Shiro _feels it_ , as clearly as if the shot had hit him, so clearly that for a moment he thinks they _must_ have both been hit - but when he looks down there’s no mark on his chest, no black singe like the one maring the white carapace of Lance’s armor. He can feel it anyway, a dull pain radiating out into his shoulder, a winding blow despite the armor taking the brunt of the impact. He’s reeling, still struggling to comprehend when the soldiers close in. Close to a dozen of them now - he might can take them, most of them, he’s fast and his arm is burning, flare-like in intensity. Thirty seconds and he can get at least four, but what will he lose in that time?

Shiro inhales. Finds his center of balance. Settles his weight and readies for the burst of speed he knows he’ll need.

The sentries guns do not waver.

Exhales, and -

Lance moves before Shiro gets the chance to, a wordless shout on his lips, a flash of blue light coalescing around his right hand. He drives his fist forward and it slides through the sentry like it’s moving through water, a glittering shower of sparking wires erupting from the droid as Lance pulls back, turns, and launches himself at the next one. An eruption of gunfire comes in response, and Shiro’s on his feet again, dodging, fighting, the energy in his arm a hum that courses through his whole body. He’s keenly aware of Lance’s movements, of the distinctive shift in his fighting style. Shiro recognizes that pattern of motion, knows it instantly and instinctively.

Of course he does. It’s his own.

It takes little more than a minute to destroy the party of sentries. Afterwards, he and Lance stand, side by side, amidst the wreckage of the machines, under the watchful canopy of the trees. The silence rings in Shiro’s ears. Even his breathing sounds loud, now. Slowly, they turn, and look at each other - Lance is whole, at least, save for the dark mark on his armor. The blue glow around his hand is from the glove-like armor shielding it; as Shiro watches it fades, then shifts into the familiar shape of Lance’s bayard, gripped in his hand. Lance looks at it like he’s never seen it before. For what feels like a long time, neither of them speak.

Then, finally, Lance says,

“What happened to us?”

That, Shiro cannot answer.


	2. Good News, Bad News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild warning for description of a panic attack in this chapter. Otherwise, smooth (?) sailing ahead!

“Okay, boys,” Coran says, “I’ve got good news, and I’ve got bad news.”

“Bad news first,” Lance says, swinging his feet off the edge of the examination table in med bay, and standing with a stretch. “I always save the good stuff for last.”

“Clever lad,” Coran says. “Well, the bad news is, there’s definitely something wrong with the both of you.”

“Okay, yeah, we knew that,” Lance says. “Good news?”

“The good news is, I can’t find anything wrong with you!”

“Not helpful, Coran! How is that good news?!”

Shiro breathes a heavy sigh. Over an hour has passed since their return to the ship, and despite Coran’s exhaustive efforts and the best technology Altea has to provide, they still have no clue as to what exactly the anomaly had done to them. Or what the anomaly even had been, or where it had gone, or...anything, really.

“I’m telling you,” Coran is trying to explain, “You’re both the picture of health. It’s just your readings are a bit, well, strange.”

“Strange?” Shiro tenses at that. “Strange how?”

“Strange in that I can’t get a distinct reading on either of you. It’s like one of you isn’t there. Or, no, more like, you’re both there, you’re just showing up as the same energy signature. If that makes sense.”  

“No, it doesn’t make any sense at all,” Lance says, a note of agitation rising in his voice. He gets louder when he’s upset, Shiro’s noticed, as if sheer volume could in some way give him control of a situation. “So, what, are you saying our...our...energies have melded? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Something like that, yes.” Coran twirls the end of his moustache, thoughtfully. “Near as I can tell, when that light touched you, it scrambled your life forces up.”

“And that’s why we’ve got this weird psychic link going on?” Lance frowns. “Well, I mean, it’s not really a psychic link, I don’t guess. I can’t read your mind, Shiro. Or can I? Wait, what am I thinking right now?”

“I don’t think we can read each other’s minds, Lance,” Shiro says, his patience running thin. “The important thing is, Coran, do you know how to fix it?”

“That’s a bit above my paygrade I’m afraid. The princess might have an idea or two. On the bright side, you don’t seem to be suffering any ill effects,” Coran says, cheerily. “The primary connection appears to be physical sensation, yes? So as long as you keep each other safe, you should have nothing to worry about. It’ll be just as if it weren’t there.”

As if it weren’t there. If only it were that easy - Shiro is intensely aware of the new bond between them, a palpable weight settled somewhere in the hollow of his chest. What if they actually _can_ read each other’s minds? There are plenty of times Shiro doesn’t even like being in his own head; the idea of Lance being privy to any of the dark things he keeps carefully tucked and hidden away is nothing short of terrifying.

“If you say so,” Lance says, in a tone that suggests he is less than convinced. “Hey, uh, Coran. Off topic a bit, but, question.”

“Yes? What is it?”

“Can bayards change?”

Shiro and Lance exchange a brief, wordless glance. They hadn’t brought that up yet - Shiro had half-convinced himself he’d imagined the way Lance had fought during their brief battle.

“A bayard takes on the form of its paladin’s choosing,” Coran says, “So, yes, the blue bayard looks different for you than it did for the previous paladin -”

“No, I mean,” Lance says, “Can a bayard change even if it’s with the same person? Like, could it switch between being a gun and...something else?”

“Oh. Well. Hm.” Coran strokes his chin. “Yes. I suppose, in theory. Though I think it’s probably pretty rare. Why do you ask?”

“No reason, just wondering,” Lance says, and Shiro is oddly relieved that Coran doesn’t push the issue. There is a lot they don’t understand; Shiro would prefer if they could take things one at a time.

In the end there’s not much else for them to do, other than turn their armor over to Pidge for inspection. When she hears about the anomaly, and Lance and Shiro’s new ‘condition,’ her eyes light up with an unsettling gleam. She spends a full fifteen minutes poking and prodding at them to gauge the authenticity of their reactions - “Did you feel that?” “Yes.” “Both of you?” “YES.” - though Shiro thoroughly and emphatically denies her request for more in-depth experimentation.

“C’mon,” she whines, “For science, Shiro!”

“No, Pidge. That’s final.”

The experience leaves Shiro with a strange, jittery feeling - the sensation of seeing something happen to Lance, and then feeling it himself is surreal in a way he cannot quite begin to process. Lance, for his part, seems to be taking it well enough in stride, though there’s a nervous sort of energy about him that Shiro doesn’t wholly recognize. Or maybe that’s something he’s feeling, on a recursive track back to him - Shiro doesn’t know, and he’s not sure if there’s any good way to tell.

By now Keith, Hunk, and Allura have been alerted to their new condition as well, and have come down to join the impromptu team meeting. For the third time, Shiro tries to explain what happened, and for the third time, he fails to come up with any good answers to the litany of questions they throw at him. Hunk seems convinced that they’ve been possessed by an alien lifeform; Allura is more concerned that they’ve fallen victim to a Galra trap. Keith says very little, but Shiro can tell by the tense set of his shoulders and the deep furrow of his brow that he’s upset. Keith worries too much, far more than he tries to let on, but Shiro has at least some concept of why. Keith doesn’t deserve the things he’s been burdened with, and somehow, Shiro keeps adding to the pile.

“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about yet,” Shiro says, placating, an apologetic smile on his face. “Like Coran said, we’re both fine. Things just might be a little...unusual, for a while, that’s all. I’m sure we’ll figure out what happened and how to fix it.”

Unusual.

That was putting it mildly.

As they disperse he catches Lance, and pulls him aside in the hallway outside their rooms. A beat of awkward silence passes between them, and Shiro realizes just how rare it is for him to talk to Lance alone like this. Why is that they never talk? Shiro clears his throat, in a desperate attempt to break the quiet.

“Lance,” he says, “I just want you to know, we’ll...we’ll figure this out. I promise.”

“Sure.” Lance gives an easy, casual shrug. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s weird, yeah, but it’s not _awful_. Hey, at least I didn’t wind up with a weird magic space bond with Keith, am I right? Like, wow, can you imagine?”

Shiro grimaces.

“Lance, this is serious. We still don’t know the full ramifications of this situation. If we really can feel things from each other, it might be…” Shiro trails off, stumbling on his words. “Difficult.”

“ _Shiro_.” Lance places his hand on Shiro’s arm, and smiles. It’s such a genuine expression that it almost eases some of the anxiety blooming in his chest. “Seriously, dude, it’s going to be fine. Like Coran said, as long as neither of us does anything stupid, it’ll be like nothing happened, right? So don’t worry. We’re gonna be okay.”

Shiro wants to believe that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lance isn’t wrong. At least, not at first.  

Nothing much changes over the next twenty-four hour cycle, not that Shiro can tell, anyway. From time to time, Shiro feels a phantom pain - a stubbed toe, a banged elbow, a mild but pointed shock that he thinks must have come from Pidge’s bayard being used in response to some cheeky remark. It’s unnerving, but not unmanageable.

It catches him completely off guard then when, late in the ship’s cycle, he feels a sudden burst of adrenaline followed by the distinct reverberation of a blow straight to his gut. It nearly knocks the wind out of him, and leaves him staggering, both with the abruptness of it and the invisibility of his assailant. Several moments of wild, incomprehensible panic follow before he puts it together. Lance - something is happening to Lance.

A million terrible scenarios rush through Shiro’s head at once. An intruder on the ship? The castle itself turning on them again? The communication panel inset in his armor helpfully tells him Lance’s current location and Shiro heads straight for it - the training deck. Even in his urgency that strikes him as strange. Why would Lance be here?

The door hisses open and Shiro finds Lance mid-combat, artfully parrying a blow from the mechanical gladiator’s staff with his shield before firing back with his bayard. There’s a faint sheen of sweat and a look of intense concentration on his face, and for a moment Shiro just stares, mouth a little agape, unmoving. That singular focus breaks the second Lance takes notice of Shiro.

“Huh? Shiro? What’re you- _oof!_ ” The gladiator lands a solid blow to Lance’s torso and sends him flying halfway across the room. Shiro staggers back from the impact of it; that one was going to smart for a while. “Ow, ow, ow...okay, okay, I give, end program!”

The gladiator shudders to a halt, then stands down, inert. Shiro eyes it warily as he makes his way towards Lance, who sprawls out on the floor with his arms and legs spread out, chest heaving with exhaustion.

“Lance?” Shiro blinks down at him. “What are you doing?”

“Practicing,” Lance says. “What are _you_ doing?”

“I thought you were in trouble,” Shiro says.

“Nah, that thing knocked me around pretty good, sure, but I’m alright,” Lance says, groaning as he sits up. “Oh. _Oh_ , quiznak, you mean...you felt that, didn’t you? Crap, Shiro, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think - “

“It’s okay! It’s okay,” Shiro says. “It just surprised me, that’s all. Are you really okay?”

“I’m good. I just had the level set a little higher than usual this time.”

That gives Shiro a moment of pause. ‘Usual?’ He hadn’t thought Lance the type to spend any time in the training room.

“You do this often?” Shiro gestures at the room, the motionless gladiator, all of it. “How long have you been coming here on your own?”

“I dunno.” Lance shrugs, and makes a show of stretching his arms and legs. For some reason, Shiro can’t take his eyes off him. “A while. More often, recently. I haven’t been able to sleep much. And, besides, I kind of wanted to see if I could do that thing with my bayard again. You know, where it went all like, Iron Fist or whatever?”

“Oh.” Shiro falters. Not sleeping - is that his fault? Or has Lance always been a light sleeper? He wants to ask, but can’t find the words to. “Any luck?”

“Not yet. I was thinking, actually, it was ‘cause you were there, right? I mean, I sure as heck don’t know how to fight like that.”

“I’d been meaning to ask you about that.” Shiro frowns. “It’s probably because of this connection between us.”

Lance grins.

“So does that mean I know kung-fu now?”

“Lance.”

“Sorry. It _is_ kinda cool though,” Lance says. “Anyway, I don’t really remember how I did it. It was like my body just...moved on it’s own, y’know? I remember feeling like you were in danger. Like I had to do something to protect you. Then I just, I dunno. Moved.”

“To protect me…?”

“Yeah. Like I said, I dunno.” Lance pauses, and a slow, sly smile creeps across his face. “I bet I looked _super_ awesome though. Didn’t I? C’mon. Be honest. You were totally impressed. It’s okay, I know, I cut a very dashing figure.”

Shiro struggles to hold back a snort of laughter.

“Yes. You were very dashing. Swept me right off my feet.”

A tingle of warmth creeps across Shiro’s face and he realizes it’s because a flush has darkened Lance’s cheeks, a radiant glow that leaves him momentarily flustered. Lance recovers quickly enough, before Shiro has a chance to ask him what’s wrong, covering with a wink and a pair of finger-guns pointed in Shiro’s direction.  

“I know, I know.  And don’t you worry, Shiro, I’ve always got your back.”  

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am.”

“Hey, so, actually, I wonder,” Lance says, “This connection works both ways, right? So does that mean you automatically inherit my amazing sharpshooter skills, too?”

“Hm. I don’t know,” Shiro says. “Since I’m here, want to train together for a little bit? Maybe we can find out.”

“Together? Really?”

“Of course,” Shiro says. “You should have told me you were coming here earlier, you know. I’d have been glad to work with you.”

Lance goes a little wide-eyed at that.

“For real?”

“For real,” Shiro says, “I don’t really know why you thought you had to hide it.”

“I wasn’t _hiding_ it. It’s just, y’know, I’ve got an _image_ to maintain,” Lance says. “I don’t need people - _Keith_ \- thinking I’m not up to snuff or anything.”

“No one thinks that, Lance. In fact, I think it’s very admirable that you’re working to improve.”

“Well, I _mean_ ,” Lance says, “I wouldn’t say ‘improve,’ necessarily. You can’t ‘improve’ perfection. Doesn’t hurt to hone up the ol’ skills from time to time, though.”

“Sure,” Shiro says, and for once the smile on his face is an easy, natural thing., “Why don’t you show me what you’ve got, then, Sharpshooter?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Another cycle passes before Shiro wakes in the grip of a cold sweat, a mute, strangled cry trapped in his throat, his lungs frozen as he fights to breathe. His heart is an unsteady pounding in his ears, a drum out of time with the rhythm of his own body. It’s dark, and for a moment, he isn’t sure where he is. The faint outline of his anonymous furnishings do little to ground him - this could be his room on the castle; it could be a cell on a Galra ship; it could be a dorm at the Garrison. It could all of it be an illusion, and he feels himself start to drift, the tenuous bonds tethering him to reality loosening their grip.

There is a knock at the door.

He tries to call out, but his mouth has gone dry, a bitter taste lingering on his tongue. He manages, finally, though his voice, hoarse and shaky, sounds strange and unfamiliar in his ears.

“Come in.”

The door slides open, and he’s only a little surprised when Lance pokes his head in, the light from the hallway casting a warm, diffuse halo around his form.

“Um. Hey.” When Shiro doesn’t respond to this eloquent greeting, Lance inches into the room, cautious, a nervous twitch in his fidgeting hands. “Sorry for barging in. I, uh. Kinda felt like something was wrong?”

“Nightmare,” Shiro says. His head is spinning, the acrid sting of bile rising in the back of his throat. “I’m okay. Sorry.”

“It’s cool, you don’t need to apologize.” Lance pauses, brow furrowed in momentary contemplation. “No offense, though, but Shiro? You are definitely not okay.”

It’s hard to argue with that assessment, so Shiro doesn’t try. He pulls himself up into a sitting position, knees tucked to his chest, head in his hands. He wishes he could tell Lance to leave - he doesn’t want him to see him like this. His whole body tenses at the soft settling of weight on the mattress beside him, followed by a gentle, uncertain hand resting on his shoulder. Shiro thinks he should pull away; he doesn’t.

“Do you, um,” Lance says, “Want to talk about it?”

Shiro’s never ‘talked about it,’ not even with Keith, who might be the only one that could even begin to understand how that missing year changed him, left him broken in ways he still doesn’t fully comprehend. He doesn’t _want_ to talk about it. He doesn’t want to remember. He doesn’t want to feel this, and that’s compounded with the guilt of knowing he’s passing all of that misery onto Lance, too.

“Sometimes,” Shiro says, in as steady a tone as he can manage, “It’s like I’m still there. Like I never left.”

Even in the dim light, Shiro can tell Lance is tired - dark bags under his eyes, a certain haggard slump to his shoulders that wasn’t there before. There’s a weight around him, pulling him down, a weight that has Shiro’s name on it. And yet he leans forward anyway, throws his arms around Shiro’s shoulders, and pulls him into a tight, warm embrace. It isn’t until he makes this unexpected gesture that Shiro realizes just how deeply he’s craved this simple act of contact, this small piece of affection that he cannot, in any possible way, deserve.

“You’re not,” Lance says, voice wound tight in a way Shiro has never heard from him, “You’re here. We’re here. Okay?”

Lance has a clean, sweet smell, a hint of some indiscernible fragrance lingering on his skin. This, coupled with his tangible warmth, gives Shiro a point of focus and helps ground him. It helps, but it’s not enough - he can still feel that pull at the back of his mind, the constant cold whisper that lingers in his ears and casts doubt on everything around him. He takes a deep, shaky breath, and twists the fingers of his metal hand in the fabric of Lance’s jacket.

“It just gets so hard to tell.”

That hushed confession hangs, heavy, between them. For a long while, neither of them say anything.

“Hey, I’ve got a good idea. Check this out.” Lance pulls back from him, takes Shiro’s left hand, and guides it to his arm. “Okay, pinch me. Ow, okay, hard enough. You felt that, right?”

Shiro nods affirmation.

“Cool. So, okay, next time you feel like this, I’ll come find you,” Lance says, “You can pinch me, and since you’ll feel it too, you’ll know it’s real. What do you think?”

Shiro considers that, and says, “That’s a good idea.”

“I have them sometimes. Okay, all the time, actually. What can I say, I’m a good idea factory.”

“Thank you, Lance.” Shiro exhales, a small, shaky sigh, and drags his hand over his face. “Really, thank you. I’m sorry you had to see me like this.”

“Ah, ah, no apologies,” Lance says, waving an admonishing finger at him. “And hey, I can stay if you want. I wasn’t doing anything really. It’ll be like a slumber party - we can put our hair in curlers and talk about cute boys and stuff.”

Shiro bites back a laugh that turns into a snort.

“I don’t think my hair is long enough for curlers.”

“We’ll improvise, then. C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Lance says, “I’ll brew us up some of that almost-hot cocoa that Hunk programmed into the food replicator and we can just. I dunno. Chill. What d’you say?”

It’s tempting, and before he can think of a reason to refuse Lance is gone, only to return a few minutes later with two warm mugs of something that does, in fact, resemble hot chocolate. Lance thrusts one of the mugs at Shiro, then situates himself on the bed, curling up all cat-like with his drink cradled carefully in his hands. Shiro thanks him, and takes a sip; it’s warm, and despite a strange, over-sweet aftertaste, the drink goes down smooth.

“So,” Shiro says, “Is this the part where we talk about cute boys?”

Lance yelps, and Shiro flinches as the distinct sensation of a burned tongue echoes back to him.

“Uh? What? Huh?”

“That’s what you said earlier. ‘Put our hair in curlers and talk about cute boys and stuff.”’

“Oh. Oh, right, yeah, haha, I guess I did.” Lance fidgets, and stares at his not-cocoa, as if he might divine some powerful portent from it. “We can talk about whatever. You know. Two dudes, talking about dude stuff.”

Shiro takes a dainty sip of his drink, and manages to hide his grin.

“We can talk about cute boys, if that’s what you want to talk about, Lance.”

A flush creeps, cartoon-like, over Lance’s face, and his eyes go impossibly wide. The effect is both comical and endearing, and this time Shiro can’t hide a smile.

“I’m just kidding. I know that’s not your thing.”

“Oh. Oh, okay.” Lance exhales, a little tension easing out of his shoulders. “You’re good at that. The whole poker face thing. You’re so serious all the time that I can’t tell when you’re joking.”  

“I’m not that serious.” Shiro pauses. “Am I?”

“Sure you are. You’re all like, cool and heroic and stuff.”

“I’m not. I’m really, really not.” Shiro looks down at his drink, fragile wisps of steam curling off the dark liquid. “You just saw that, first-hand.”

“Like that changes anything?” Lance shrugs. “You deal with a metric fuckton of crap all the time, and you still get out there and kick ass. If anything, I’d say that makes you even more cool.”

That’s enough to give Shiro pause, and for a long moment he says nothing as that statement processes.

“I don’t know if I agree with that,” he says, finally, “But, thank you.”  

Lance hums a small noise of acknowledgement and they both fall quiet for a while, sharing a bit of companionable silence. There’s some comfort in that, just in being not alone, and despite the fact that they’re sitting a small distance apart, it feels like some inexplicable warmth reverberates between the two of them. Shiro wishes that Lance would move closer; he doesn’t, and Shiro makes no move to close the gap between them, either.

“By the way,” Lance says abruptly, “I never said it wasn’t my thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Guys.” Lance stares at his drink again, rotating the mug in his hands. “Don’t get me wrong, I like girls. But I can think guys are cute, too.”

“Oh.” The confession is unexpected but, Shiro finds, not unwelcome. “Of course. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Okay. Just so. Y’know. We’re clear.”

Lance looks up at him then, his expression expectant, though what he might be waiting for Shiro isn’t sure. Not true: he has some idea of what it is, but he simply can’t allow himself to acknowledge it, so he lets the newfound awkwardness settle, a weighted silence hovering in the space between them.

It comes as something of a relief when Lance finally downs the rest of his drink, stands, and stretches before turning back to Shiro and saying,

“Well, that was pretty good, right? D’you want a refill, or are you feeling like sleepy-times again?”

“Sleepy times, definitely,” Shiro says. “Thank you, Lance. Really. I mean it.”

“Any time,” Lance says. “And, y’know, if you need me again…”

“I know.” Shiro pinches, lightly, at his arm. “Right?”

“Right.” Lance smiles a little, then turns towards the door. “Okay. Night, Shiro.”

Shiro watches Lance leave, his silhouette paused in the doorframe. His bed feels strangely empty now, and he almost moves after him. He doesn’t; instead, he just says,

“Good night, Lance.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Morning doesn’t count for much, in space.

They mark time here in vargas and doboshes, in ticks and quintaints; a full cycle on the castle is something approximate to twenty-four hours Earth-time, as near Shiro can tell, and at least five of these have passed since this whole mess started. It feels like a lot longer.

Morning doesn’t mean much, but still, it feels like morning when Allura sends a message asking Shiro and Lance to come to sick bay. At least he slept some, fragmented though it was; when he meets Lance in the corridor, he looks about as well rested, which isn’t saying too much. They don’t talk about the previous night; they don’t talk about much, not until after they’re seated side by side in the now familiar setting of sick bay, listening with expectant expressions as Allura explains the results of the last test she’d run on them. Unsurprisingly, the results had been inconclusive at best, and despite Coran’s best efforts to locate the anomaly responsible for their condition, no sign of the energy signature has appeared again.

"I just don’t _understand_ ," she says, "You can't just _change_ a person's life force. It doesn't work that way."

"I don't know that it's been changed." Coran scrunches his face up in a look of concern and makes some vague motions with his hands. "More that’s it all squashed together, like."

"Either way, it's been altered, and that's my point," Allura says. "I can't think of anything that can do something like that. Or, really, why? What purpose did it serve, making them end up like this?"

“Lance,” Shiro says, suddenly, “You said something, right after it happened. Something about the anomaly just wanting to communicate with us?”

“Yeah?” Lance blinks. “Uh, I guess so? I dunno, I think I saw that on an episode of Star Trek once.”

“Certainly it’s possible that whatever you encountered is using the two of you as a...conduit, of sorts,” Allura says, “But it doesn’t appear to be controlling either of you, and if there were some sort of foreign life form inhabiting you, the castle would certainly detect it.”

“Okay, so, we probably don’t need an alien exorcist, that’s good,” Lance says, dryly. “Can we just talk about whether or not we can fix this?”

Allura’s expression turns grave, and she drops her hands to her sides with a quiet sigh.

“To be quite honest with you, we’re ignoring the larger problem here,” she says. “What we’re discussing is the very energy that keeps us all alive. It’s not something to be tampered with lightly. The Galra have experimented with it, but to what ends…”

“You’re talking about quintessence,” Shiro says. “If that’s the case, then can’t we use that to reverse the effects? We’ve seen what Zarkon’s witch can do. If the Galra have that capability, then there must be a way.”

“Certainly,” Allura says, “But the Galra experiment with no regard for the lives of their subjects.”

“Then,” Lance says, “What are you saying exactly?”

“I’m saying, I...if I tried to untangle the connection between the two of you now, I’m. I’m not sure either of you would survive it.”

“You mean.” Lance casts a brief glance towards Shiro, his face pale. “We’d die.”

The question hangs heavy in the air before Allura nods, and says,

“Yes. I’m afraid so.”


	3. Distance

He doesn’t recognize the stars, here.

Back on Earth, Shiro could name every constellation in the sky. He knew the distance between Alpha Centauri and his own solar system by heart; he could pick out the glimmer of Tau Ceti and Procyon from over 11 light years away. Before - before Voltron, before Kerberos - space was a goal, something to pin his hopes and aspirations on. All he had to do was turn his gaze skyward to forget about earthbound problems. Now, space is an empty and vast thing, and the stars are cold and unfamiliar; it gives him some sense of perspective, at least, to see how important their mission is, to know that his own hurts and fears are just small, insignificant things compared to the vastness of the universe. He has a purpose, and a duty. In the face of that, it’s easy to box everything else up, to tuck it away neatly and put a lock on it.

The Black Paladin is worth more than Takashi Shirogane ever was, anyway.

There is something admittedly peaceful about the quiet dark of this observation deck; it’s out of the way, and while rarely visited by the other inhabitants of the castle, Shiro often comes here seeking solace in the endless, glittering array of stars outside the wide windows.

For once he thinks it would be nice if the Galra were around - he could use the distraction of a good fight, and his mind would be much better put to use coming up with a mission plan than trying to untangle the mess currently plaguing it. Unfortunately things have been quiet in this sector, and despite the sudden urge Shiro has to punch something, he has too rational a head to indulge in that sort of reckless self-satisfaction. _Patience yields focus_. Maybe that line isn’t just reserved for Keith, after all.

After close to an hour of staring at the unfamiliar constellations, the weight of Allura’s verdict still hangs heavy on shoulders. It shouldn’t be bothering him this much. Lance hadn’t seemed particularly upset - unsettled, perhaps, but not shaken the way Shiro had been. Shiro didn’t understand it; Lance was certainly getting the worse end of the deal. Yet he’d taken it, as he had everything so far, in perfect stride, like a river rushing over a tiny pebble in the course of its stream. Shiro felt, by contrast, like a still pool, with each rock that broke his surface doing nothing but piling up in the unfathomable depths.

He breathes a small sigh, and leans forward to press his forehead against the smooth, cool glass. Behind him, the door opens.

“I was wondering where you’d run off to,” Lance says. “What are you doing?”

Shiro leans back, and scrubs a hand over his face.

“Thinking.”

“Yeah.” Lance stops beside him, and stares at the window. “Kind of a bummer, huh? What Allura said.”

“Mm.”

“Think it’s true? That we’d kick it, if she fixed us.”

“I don’t know. It’s not worth the risk trying to find out.”

“No kidding.” Lance stretches, first his arms, and then his back. “Well. I guess it’s not the worst thing that could happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Being stuck like this.” Lance turns to face Shiro; in the dim light, his eyes are dark enough that he can’t make out their color. Blue; he knows they’re blue. “I mean, it actually hasn’t been that bad. Awkward? Kinda? But hey, there’s worse ways we could end up. And, hey, if I was gonna get stuck with a weird alien psychic connection with someone, I’m glad it was you.”

“Thanks, I think?” Shiro manages an uncertain smile. “You don’t have to say that, though. I know it hasn’t been easy.”

“Hey, I’m cool,” Lance protests, “We’re cool. Aren’t we?”

Shiro is quiet for a moment.

“I’m sure you thought I didn’t notice, but your right hand,” he says, “It’s been bothering you, hasn’t it?”

“It’s.” Lance fidgets. “It’s not that bad. I wasn’t even gonna say anything about it.”

Shiro looks down at the cool metal of his right hand; the vague phantom ache that extends out from the stump of his ruined arm has been such a constant that he’s barely aware of it anymore. There are a myriad of half-healed hurts all over his body; all of them are familiar companions to him, but no doubt they’ve been shocking and unwelcome guests to Lance.

“I know that’s not all,” Shiro says, “There was last night, for starters, and...I can manage fine on my own, but asking you to put up with it is…”

“It’s fine. I said it’s fine.”

“It’s _not_.”

“Shiro, seriously -”

“No, it’s not alright. Besides, it’s too much of a risk - if one of us is compromised, then we’ll be down two paladins, and -”

“You are _not_ talking about _Voltron_ right now.”

“It’s something we need to consider. We already saw that it affected you when we were in combat. What if it that happens again? When we’re in our Lions? There’s so much we don’t know -”

“Shiro! I don’t give a flying quiznak about Voltron! I’m worried about _you_!” Lance takes a deep breath, as if to steel himself. “Look. I’ve been thinking. Maybe, okay, just maybe, this connection we have is actually a _good_ thing.”

“I. Wait. What?”

“This.” Lance reaches forward and takes Shiro’s right hand in his own. The sensation, as is everything he feels with that hand, is muted and lacking in warmth, but it still feels like an electric current runs through Shiro at that hesitant touch. “This hurts all the time, doesn’t it? You never said anything about it before. I had no idea.”

Shiro’s breath hitches, catching somewhere between his lungs, and he manages a slight, mute nod.

“What I’m trying to say is, you don’t have to deal with it on your own anymore,” Lance says, voice quiet, eyes cast downward. “You can rely on me. I mean, I’d like it if you did, anyway.”

“Lance.” Shiro’s voice is tight, strained. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I’m supposed to be the leader of this team. It wouldn’t be right to ask that of you.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Lance’s hand tightens in Shiro’s own. “I’m saying I want to be there for you. What’s wrong with that? It doesn’t have anything to do with you being our leader, or whatever. You get what I’m trying to say, right?”

“Lance…”

There’s a note of warning in Shiro’s tone, but it goes unheeded.

“I mean, I’ve been trying not to be super obvious about it, but…you can tell, can’t you?”

“Lance, we can’t do this.”

“Why? Why not?” There’s an edge, something almost desperate, in Lance’s voice. “Give me one good reason. Cause you might be trying to hide it, but I can tell you feel the same way about me.”

It’s true - Shiro’s best attempts at denial can’t hide the warmth he feels when he’s with Lance, the distinct stirrings of attraction between them that he’s been trying to hard to ignore. He’s almost tempted to admit it, but logic wins out in the end, and instead he says,

“There are only about a _million_ reasons why this is a terrible, _terrible_ idea.” He shifts his gaze away from the intent expectation on Lance’s face, and focuses instead on an indistinct cluster of stars outside the window. Adrift in this strange sea of stars, he feels unmoored from everything. “Not the least of which is the fact that you and I both are...emotionally compromised right now.”

“I’m not _compromised_ ,” Lance says, as if the word were a sour thing on his tongue.

“You are. We both are,” Shiro adds.

“No, you’re _scared_ ,” Lance says. “Big difference.”

“I am not -” Shiro pauses, takes a breath, recenters. “We are not doing this.”

But Lance isn’t moving, and Shiro is all too aware of how close he is, of the distinct and dizzying force between them, and even if he’s not certain where exactly it originated from, he would be lying if he said he didn’t like the way it felt. It would be so easy to close that short distance, and he can’t help wondering what it would feel like to lean down and kiss Lance, to touch him, to have that sensation curve back to him.

Just then, the door opens again, and the tension dissipates into something else entirely as Keith walks in. He stops short, looks at both of them with a furrowed brow, then focuses his gaze on their still intertwined hands. Lance and Shiro pull apart from each other as if scalded, and Shiro’s thankful for the low, ambient light hiding the flush on his face as he clears his throat.

“Keith. What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been trying to find you two for fifteen minutes now.” Keith’s voice is flat, but his gaze is piercing. “Coran picked up an emergency distress call from some planet a few star systems over. We’re heading out in five.”

“Understood. We’ll be right there.”

Lance walks out without a word, hurrying past Keith. Shiro hopes to make a similar exit, but Keith maneuvers in front of him in a smooth motion, effectively blocking the door. Several impolite words that Shiro would never speak aloud run through his mind.

“So,” Keith says, “You and Lance.”

“Me and Lance,” Shiro repeats, “Yes?”

Keith stares at him with his usual, unrelenting intensity.

“Are you two gonna be okay with this?”

“With...what?”

“Voltron. Galra. Fighting. That stuff,” Keith says. “It’s the first time we’ve gone on a mission since you two got like...this.”

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a _little_ worried,” Shiro says, clasping Keith’s shoulder and offering him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “But we’ll be okay. We’ve got this under control.”

“Do you?” Keith’s brow knits in a frown, his arms folded tight across his chest. “You’ve both been weird. Weird _er_ , in Lance’s case.”

“Have we?” Shiro blinks, then shakes his head. “It’s okay, Keith. We’ll do this like we always do, and it’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

Saying it like that, Shiro almost believes it. Keith looks less convinced.

“Yeah. I know. I just.” Keith breathes a sigh, shifts his weight from foot to foot, and lets his gaze dart around the room. “Be careful, okay?”

Being careful is a lot easier when you're not flying straight into a Galra occupied star system. Shiro tries to tamp down the flutter of anxiety blossoming in his chest - breathes deep, runs through a series of calming mantras in his mind. He’d wanted the good distraction of a fight, and now he had it. He isn’t sure if he should be thankful or not.

In their lions, the banter between the team is their usual casual interaction. Lance sounds like his normal cheeky self, prodding at Keith, joking with Hunk and Pidge, but there's a cold sweat crawling its way down Shiro's spine, a heavy knot lodged firmly in his gut. For all of Lance’s cavalier bravado, Shiro can tell he’s nervous: whether that’s lingering from their earlier unfinished conversation, or simply amplified by Shiro’s own apprehension, he isn’t sure. Shiro wants to calm him, somehow, to offer some words of comfort - 'we'll be okay,' or 'I'll protect you,' but he doubts Lance would appreciate the effort if it damaged his confident facade. Besides, they would be nothing but empty promises - Shiro, for all he's done, has never been good at protecting anyone or anything.

"We're approaching the target," Shiro says, "Everyone stay alert."

This is not their first battle. It isn't even their second, or third, or tenth, and yet, everything goes wrong.

Shiro doesn't even see it coming when the blast from the laser cannon mounted to the bow of a Galra destroyer hits the Black Lion dead on. Blinding light envelops him, energy crackling through him like fire, brilliant and burning. He screams, the sound raw as it tears from his throat. The last thing he is aware of is his own name, distant and muted through the speakers in his helmet, and a sound like roaring that grows in his mind until it turns into static.

Then, there is nothing.

 

* * *

 

Shiro wakes somewhere weightless, floating in some empty field of black, removed from the tethers of gravity. There's a gentle, purplish glow that he belatedly realizes is coming from him, his body strangely translucent and pulsing with soft radiance. Around him are distant pinpoints of light, indistinct stars arranged into constellations he does not recognize.

He thinks he might be dead.  
  
Maybe not, not yet. He remembers this place - the Black Lion has taken him here before, to face Zarkon. Why she would send him here again now of all times, is beyond his understanding. He can't sense her presence here. He can't sense anyone, or anything, here. He closes his eyes, a strange feeling of peace washing over him. It would be so easy to give into that weightlessness, to fade into the dark, to let that soft glow within him wane and burn out. Shiro has always thought he would die alone, and this - this would not be such a bad way to go.

Something pulls at him, a knot that catches in his chest, and he realizes there is someone else here. He's surprised to see Lance hovering beside him, his form as vague and ephemeral as Shiro's own. A string of bright, white light connects them, issuing out from Shiro's chest and disappearing straight into Lance's. But Lance isn’t moving, just floating, unconscious and unaware; even when Shiro calls his name he doesn’t respond, and a swell of panic replaces his previous complacency.

The light stretched between them is so thin, so bright, that he imagines, if he tried, it would be an easy thing to snap in two. Would doing so free them from the connection tethering them to each other? Or, as Allura suggested, would it end both of them? He reaches out and pulls Lance to him, every point of contact between them sending sparks shooting through his veins.

“I’m sorry.”

A low growl sounds from nearby and Shiro tenses, bristling like a startled cat, swiveling towards the noise. Again, closer this time, and now he recognizes the voice - it’s Black calling him, pulling him back. A force like gravity tugs at him with alarming strength, and Lance’s form is pulled from his arms, that light stretching impossibly long between them as Shiro falls and falls and falls -

 

* * *

 

Someone is screaming.

Primal and raw, it’s a terrible sound that cuts straight to his core. Other sounds layer in - the shouting of familiar voices, the shrill screech of rending metal, a cacophony of alarms blaring in discordant unison. Shiro’s vision wavers when he blinks his eyes open, a wave of motion-sick nausea churning in his stomach. He struggles against the urge to be sick, sits up, and tries to take stock of his situation.

The console is lit in red, messages in angry Altean flashing over every screen. He ignores them in favor of making out what's happening on the battlefield and sorting out the panicked voices of his team.

" _Lance!_ " Shiro has never heard Hunk sound so desperate. " _Lance, stop! C'mon, buddy, that's enough!_ "

Shiro looks out, through the viewscreen of his lion, and his heart seizes at what he finds. The Blue Lion tears through a Galra cruiser in a shower of ice and fire, streaking smoke off her left flank, sparks issuing out of the damage wrought to her chest. He's never seen any of the lions move like that, charging with reckless, unrestrained abandon, like some wild and feral thing. There is no sound in space, but when the lion opens her jaws Shiro imagines he hears a desperate, piercing cry, like that of a wounded animal. For all of this, he can't hear Lance, can't feel anything from him but a rush of adrenaline mixed with anger and fear and...something else that he can't quite place.

"Lance," Shiro says, and hears a mixture of relieved sounds from the rest of his team, "Lance, come in. I’m here. Can you hear me?"

Nothing. The battlefield is littered with fragments of ice and the remnants of Galra ships, carnage so startling that even Shiro, as jaded as he has become to the realities of an intergalactic war, is left unsettled. Lance did this. It doesn’t seem possible. How? Why? Right now it doesn’t matter; what matters is stopping him, and bringing him back from whatever madness the battle has driven him to.

With no response coming over the comm, Shiro does the first thing that comes to mind, and pinches his left arm as hard as he can. He expects the muted, distinct sensation to prick his skin in return, but as the seconds tick by, nothing happens. Panic and dread blossom in his chest, cold and heavy.

The Blue Lion roars, and continues her rampage.

 

* * *

  
They make it back.

Somehow, they all make it back.

This isn’t even close to the first time Shiro’s flirted with death - that isn’t what bothers him. What eats at him on the impossibly long flight back to the castleship is the overwhelming need to see Lance, to have some solid proof that he’s okay. After the last of the Galra forces fled, Blue had turned on the other lions, and it had taken Red, Yellow, and Green to finally stop her. With Black damaged, Shiro had been able to do little else but watch, and keep trying to reach Lance through pinching his arm in a desperate hope that the sensation would reach him. Despite his best attempts, he found no response. After it was over, and Blue had gone still and dark, everything was startlingly quiet; the wreckage of the battlefield and that wordless screaming haunted Shiro, looping over and over again in his mind, but the abrupt silence that followed after was even more terrifying.

There’s little chatter on their return journey, a tense, shared silence over the comm. Yellow tows Blue; Red and Green help push Black along, back to the castle. Once they’re docked, Shiro wastes no time leaving his lion, stumbling out of the hangar and ignoring the protests of his aching body. He nearly runs into Keith on the way, but pushes past him; he hears Keith call after him, but ignores it, running now with an intent and singular purpose. Up close the damage wrought on the Blue Lion looks even worse, the giant mechanical feline slumped in her hangar, eyes dark, mouth ajar. The air in the darkened cockpit is stifling, and he finds Lance slumped back in his chair, still and unmoving. For one terrible moment Shiro assumes the worst, but then he sees a faint cloud of breath on the smooth surface of Lance’s helmet. A wave of relief so powerful washes over him that he sinks to his knees, reeling. A moment later he hears footsteps and looks up to see Hunk, Pidge, and Keith all crowding in.

“Lance? Oh my god.” Hunk rushes over to Lance’s side; he shakes him by the shoulder, to no response. “Oh no, oh, no. Is he…?”

“He’s just unconscious,” Pidge says. “Shiro? What happened out there?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean?!’ It was totally crazy! Like!” Hunk makes some vague hand gestures and sound effects that are intended, Shiro thinks, to emulate the intense battle they’d just had. “What was that?”

“Hunk, I’m sorry, I...what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Lance going berserker mode in the Blue Lion!”

“Right after you got hit, something happened to Lance,” Keith explains, “He just...started screaming, then his comm went dead. You saw how Blue was moving out there. He took out half the Galra fleet on his own.”

“It was scary, dude,” Hunk said, “And we thought you were dead too, and I was honestly totally freaking out, and…”

Shiro thinks back to Lance’s form, translucent and pale in the astral plane; the bright filament of light stretching between them. Shiro had pulled him there, after all, dragged him right out of himself. It’s the only explanation he can think of. He glances over at Lance’s still form and a deeper worry settles over him - what if Lance hadn’t made it back? If he was still trapped, somehow, what did that mean?

Coran’s voice, sharp through the speakers in their helmets, interrupts the conversation.

“ _Everyone alright? Still in one piece, I hope?_ ”

“Mostly,” Shiro says.

“ _Good_ ,” Coran says, “ _Then, Shiro - you’d better get on up here to the bridge._ ”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“ _It’s the anomaly. We’ve found it again._ ” 


	4. Loop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro confronts the anomaly in an attempt to save Lance, and finds out the reason behind their connection.

The shimmering light cuts across the space before them, shifting through hues of gold and amber, an extraterrestrial aurora borealis. It’s larger this time, or it looks that way at least - none of the castle sensors can detect anything about its true size, shape, or substance. It takes up most of the viewscreen, and for a while they all stare at it, wordlessly, a hushed awe settling over them.

“I think it’s a space-time rift,” Pidge says, suddenly, adjusting her glasses as she peers at the screen.

Keith eyes her with suspicion.

“A what now?”

“A rift. Kind of like a wormhole? But not just through space, through time, as well.” Pidge crowds Coran out of the way to stare at the terminal screen. “If I’m right, that’s why we can’t get any clear readings on it. It doesn’t actually exist in the same time as us.”

“So what you’re saying,” Shiro says, brow knit a deep frown, “Is that we’re seeing something from the past? Or the future? Or...what, exactly?”

“I’m not sure.” Pidge’s face scrunches up into a look of deep concentration. “More like it exists in both the past, present, and future all at once, but at the same time it doesn’t exist yet at all.”

“Ooh, like Schrodinger's Cat,” Hunk pipes up. “Or, in this case, uh, Schrodinger’s Space-Time Anomaly?”

“Yeah, I guess?” Pidge shrugs.

“Okay. Assume I understood that,” Shiro says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The question is, what do we do now that we’ve found it? Is there any way for us to establish contact?”

“It’s not like it’s sentient,” Pidge says. “At least. I don’t think? Actually, I’m not sure. I mean, I’m still just guessing, here. But here’s the other weird thing - the energy signature we picked up from it? It’s almost the exact same pattern as Voltron’s.”

A hushed quiet falls over the room. Shiro can’t even begin to process what Pidge is saying - whatever it is, there’s something more important to worry about now.

“I’m more concerned with what it did to me and Lance. Last time, it affected us when we got close to it,” Shiro says. “Is it possible that if we approach it again, the effect will be reversed?”

“Possible, yes,” Coran says, “But to be fair, it’s just as like to suck you in and untether you from the bonds of space and time.”

“Is.” Hunk casts a nervous glance between them. “Is that a bad thing?”

A beat of silence lingers between them, and no one makes eye contact.

“I think, for now,” Allura says, “We should observe it, until we know more. Don’t you think, Shiro?”

Of course, that’s the logical, rational decision. It’s the one he knows is correct, the one that, normally, he would have suggested in the first place. Watch. Wait. Patience. He reminds himself of the virtues of such things as he heads towards sick bay.

Sick bay is, perhaps, Shiro’s least favorite place on the entire castle. Something about the cold, sterile nature of the room is discomforting, familiar in a way that tugs on a host of vague and unpleasant memories he’d much rather leave buried. The room is quiet, save for the constant, low-level hum of the ship, and a bay of cryopods on the far wall looms empty and watchful, save for one. Lance looks wan and pale behind the blue-green glass, preternaturally still. It isn’t the first time he’s seen Lance like this, but it strikes Shiro just how strange that stillness is in contrast to Lance’s usual blur of exuberant noise and motion. Shiro breathes a soft sigh, and rests his forehead against the glass; technically, Lance wasn’t injured, but when they couldn’t wake him they’d put him here, just to be safe. Coran had suggested that, after a few hours or so, maybe Lance would just wake up on his own, bit his assurances had been less than convincing. Besides, Shiro still can’t shake the worry that something profound and terrible has happened; he can’t stop seeing the battle inside his head, can’t stop hearing the echoes of alarms and screaming. He can’t stop seeing Lance’s form, strange and still, in the empty vastness of the astral plane and then again in the confines of his cockpit. Lance isn’t waking up, and Shiro can think of no one to blame for that but himself.

He has to do something.

“You know,” Keith says, startling Shiro, “You ought to be in one of those yourself, right now.”

Shiro turns to see Keith standing a few paces behind him, arms crossed, a dark frown tugging at his lips. Shiro hadn’t even heard him approach; whether that was thanks to his own distraction, or because Keith was just that good at being quiet, he isn’t sure.

“I’m fine,” Shiro says.

“Calling bullshit on that one,” Keith says. “You nearly got blown to hell out there.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?”

“I don’t know.” Shiro scrubs a hand over his face. “I should have seen it coming. I should have been more careful. I shouldn’t have gone ahead with the mission in the first place, when we’re...like this.”

“You didn’t know this would happen,” Keith says.

“No, but it did, and now Lance is…”

Shiro trails off, and looks back at the solemn, dark glass of the cryopod.

“You wanna go out there,” Keith says, “Don’t you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re not actually a good liar, you know that, Shiro?” Keith’s tone takes on a hard edge as he reaches out and grabs Shiro’s arm, tugging him around to face him. “You heard them, didn’t you? We’re supposed to wait.”

“And if it disappears again? What then? This could be our only chance.”

Keith’s hand tightens on Shiro’s arm.

“We need you here, Shiro.”

“But Lance -”

“He needs you, too,” Keith says. “Look, I get it, okay? You two. Any other time, I’d be glad for you, but right now, I _need_ you to think with your head. You’ll do more good for Lance by being here than by running off and doing something crazy. And stupid. Did I mention stupid?”

“I saw him,” Shiro says, his voice small, wound up tight, caught somewhere in his throat. “In that place. The astral plane, wherever...whatever that is. He was there. I had him, but he got pulled away from me, and...Keith, what if he’s stuck there? What if _I’m_ the thing trapping him there?”

“You don’t know that,” Keith says, “Shiro, you don’t know that.”

“There’s a lot I don’t know. Too much. This is the only way I can see to get any answers.”

“And if something goes wrong?” Keith’s voice pitches up, rising in anger and some other, long-buried emotion. “If you don’t come back? We can’t do this without you, Shiro.”

“I will. I will come back. Keith, I promise I will.”

“Yeah. You’ve said that before.” Bitterness hangs, ugly, in Keith’s voice. He stares at some fixed point beyond Shiro, mouth drawn in a hard line. “This is still stupid, you know that, right?”

Shiro flinches at the accusation, even though he can’t deny the veracity of it. He leaves; that’s what he’s good at. He doesn’t know how to explain that it’s never been his choice not to come back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Just go.” Keith gives him a small push forward. “Be safe. Bring Lance back with you, alright?”

“I will.” A pause. “Keith?”

“I swear to God, Shiro, if you’re about to say ‘if I don’t make it out of here, I want you to lead Voltron,’ again…”

“Okay, okay.” A small, faint smile crosses Shiro’s face. “Never mind. Just...look after everyone for me, alright? And...I’ll see you soon.”

Keith nods, mutely, and turns so he doesn’t have to watch Shiro leave. It’s a bit of relief to be free of his scrutinizing gaze, but Shiro still hurries on his way to the shuttle bay. He could have taken Black, sure, if she could fly, but he can’t risk losing one of the Lions; a shuttle, they can live without. Him, they can live without. Whatever Keith says, if Shiro doesn’t make it back, he knows the team will be in good hands.  

Shiro shuts the comms off, and maneuvers the shuttle out of the airlock, towards the shifting band of the rift. He shouldn’t have done it this way. He should have at least told the others. He should have at least been honest with Lance when he’d had the chance. But that is exactly the way Shiro has always been - leaving things unsaid, letting the spaces between lie empty with broken expectation.

Even as he gets closer, the anomaly doesn’t change in size - it’s both small and immeasurably large at the same time, a faint light and a supernova happening all at once.

If he makes it back from this, there’s going to be hell to pay.

He wonders if he will.

Something pulls at him, a strange and familiar voice calling his name, beckoning him forward.

Once again, there is light, and then everything goes white.

 

* * *

 

It’s warm.

The weightless sensation of floating is not so jarring this time, suspended here with no boundaries, no horizon, just an endless, wheeling stretch of glimmering space that stretches into infinity around him. The thread of light extending from his chest trails off somewhere he can’t see, but Lance isn’t here. No one is here.

No - someone, some _thing_ , is there, the suggestion of a presence tickling the back of his mind. He swerves as if to see, but the space swings around him independent of his motions, a strange, motion-sick lurching that reveals nothing new about his surroundings.

But it’s warm - he’s reminded of the feeling he had when they first encountered the anomaly, that gentle, pulling feeling, like a familiar voice calling his name. The sensation is all around him, an enveloping presence that, strangely, does not feel entirely unwelcome. It feels so familiar, like an old friend who’s name he can’t quite remember. Shiro tries to call out, but his mouth makes no sound; he closes his eyes, focuses instead on feeling, hoping it resonates somehow with wherever he is.

_Can you hear me?_

The response comes not in words, but in a sense of affirmation, as if from a countless number of tiny, hummed whispers. It’s jarring, and it takes a few moments for Shiro to try reaching out again.

_Who are you? Where is this place?_

The answer this time is less distinct, harder to parse out - the image of a hive flashes before him, a feeling of safety and home, but no concrete name comes to his mind. It sounds almost like the voice he’s come to recognize as the Black Lion’s, but different, somehow, in a way he can’t quite define.

_I’m looking for my friend. Can you help me find him?_

The thread of light stretching from him starts to glow, bright in its intensity. A soft voice, vague and ephemeral as rustling leaves, sounds in his ears:

**_Follow_ **

He goes forward without moving, the shapeless space around him flickering in bursts of color and light. It’s hard to look at, and he wants to close his eyes, but finds he can’t.

_Why?_ He projects the question as he moves, seeing no end yet in sight to the forward motion. _You did this to us, didn’t you? Why? What did you hope to gain?_

**_Connection_ **

The word hums and hovers in his mind, carrying with it some connotation that he can’t quite understand. Did they - whoever, whatever, ‘they’ were - want a connection with him and Lance? Or were they just arbiters in creating the connection between them?

_But why me? Why Lance? We weren’t….we weren’t even that close._

**_Bond_ **

_We didn’t have a bond!_

He lurches to an abrupt stop, and feels the thread catch and pull taut in his chest. It’s a truth he’s had yet to put into words - that, at the end of the day, he and Lance had been little more than strangers to each other. If he were being realistic, the same would have been true if it had been anybody else - even Keith, who he’d known longest, was a shade from his past, a half-ghost that Shiro could barely remember. Had he come any farther than that, with anyone? The tiny, incremental steps he and Lance had taken towards each other over the past days - did they count for anything? After all, Shiro spent so much time making sure he _didn’t_ get too close, keeping that perfect distance away from everyone, so he’d never hurt, or be hurt again; so when, finally, he left and didn’t come back again for good, there’d be no messy, severed connections. No broken bonds. Just a hollow place where he’d once been, easily covered up, easily forgotten.

There is no response for some time - though, Shiro recognizes, his perception of the passage of time here probably has little bearing on anything - just a heavy, thoughtful sort of pause.

**_Love_ **

_What?_

**_Love_ **

_I don’t know what you mean._

He feels his heart swell, a tender ache paired with a suffusing warmth spreading through his body. That conflict of longing and desire, of want and the happiness that comes of achieving it, is not something he is well acquainted with, but it is not altogether foreign to him.

He’s just gotten pretty damned good at ignoring it.

_It’s not like that._

He would have sworn the response he got from that thought is amusement bordering on derision. Alright, lying to a mind-reading alien entity - probably not a great plan. Point proven.

_Okay, if this is your way of matchmaking, I can’t say I approve. That’s not how people, or relationships, work._

Another pause, some kind of frustration or unease seeping in around the silence.

**_You were already there_ **

_What? What does that mean?_

**_You asked for help_ **

_Help? I didn’t -_

Something pulls at him, and with a jerking, violent motion he lurches forward into a sensation like falling. Words and images flash before him like quicksilver, glimmering and too fast to latch onto. Voices layer, unintelligible, one on top of the other, and Shiro suddenly remembers Pidge saying something about the past and the present and the future all existing together, at once, and - then he understands.

At the same time he is here, he and Lance are shaking hands for the first time in Keith’s outpost in the middle of the desert. They are passing each other in the halls of the Galaxy Garrison. They are standing next to each other, hand in hand, watching an alien sunset, heading for what they hope is to be a final battle. Shiro is coming here, asking for help, asking for a way to find Lance; and at the same time they are on that forested planet where a strange, brilliant light pulls them together. They are strangers, and they have known each other for years, and Shiro gets it now, what this nameless energy is, feels the understanding course through him with sudden and vibrant clarity - it’s the same thing that binds Voltron together, the same thing that connects the Lions to their paladins. Of course they have a bond - like the Lions, they were always, inevitably, meant to come together.

They just needed to find each other.

When it all stops and everything is finally, finally still, Lance is there, a motionless, shimmering form hovering just in front of him. The light between them stretches thin, pulsing with a steady, white glow. Shiro reaches out and pulls Lance towards him, still reeling as he tries to fully comprehend and make sense of everything that has happened, that is happening, that is going to happen. He couldn’t ever have put it into words, not if he’d tried, but somehow, he knows, and that’s enough.

_Thank you._

**_You will need him to bring you back, too, before it is all over_ **

In a way, Shiro thinks, he already has.

 

* * *

 

“ _-ro? Shiro, do you copy? Shiro, come in!”_

Shiro sits up, blinking, his vision strange and unfocused. Keith’s voice - he thinks it’s Keith’s voice - is small and tinny in his ear.

“I’m here,” Shiro says, with a small groan. “I read you.”

He looks out the window of the shuttlecraft; the shifting golden glow of the anomaly is gone, only vast, empty space left in its wake.

“What...happened?”

“ _You flew straight for the anomaly. Once you crossed into it, we lost all visual contact. Then it just...kind of….disappeared?”_

“Disappeared?” Shiro sits up straighter, his head starting to clear. “How long was I gone?”

_“I don’t know, a couple of seconds, maybe? It’s like as soon as you touched it, it vanished. Shiro, are you...are you okay?”_

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m...I think so, yeah,” Shiro says. “Wait, Lance. What about Lance, is he -”

“ _Not to worry, Prince Charming_ .” There’s a tired edge to the flirty lilt of Lance’s voice, but it’s still the best sound Shiro could have hoped to hear. “ _Sleeping Beauty’s up and at ‘em. I had the weirdest freakin’ dream, though.”_

_“Okay, okay, nobody wants to hear about your weird dream, Lance,”_ Keith cuts in, though there’s a distinct note of relief in his voice. “ _You can catch up when you’re back on the castle.”_

“Roger that,” Shiro says. “Heading home.”

 

* * *

 

“You did something crazy. And stupid.”

It isn’t quite fair how smug Lance looks, perched on the edge of an exam table in sick bay, long legs elegantly crossed, chin perched neatly on his hand.

“I’m assuming Keith told you,” Shiro says. “Yes, I guess I did.”

“And here I thought Mullet was our resident impulsive hot-head. I see where he gets it from now,” Lance says. “But no, he didn’t tell me.”

“Then, how did you…?”

“After you got hit on the battlefield, I wound up in this really weird place. Like, all sparkly and floaty and stuff?” Lance shook his head. “I couldn’t really move or see or anything, but I could still hear. Specifically, I could still hear _you_.”

“So...now you _can_ read my thoughts?”

“No, I don’t think so, I think it was just while I was there? At any rate, I knew you were coming after me. And I kinda got that stuff about the, uh. Bond? Connection? Love? Whatever that was?”

“Yeah, that…” Shiro trailed off. “That’s a little hard to describe.”

“So what was it, exactly? I mean, did you figure it out?”

“I think it’s the same energy that makes Voltron work,” Shiro says. “I’m not sure I can explain it well, not in words, anyway. But I think the reason it called out to us in the first place was because of our bond as paladins. I guess we were already connected, I just...didn’t realize it.”

“Huh. I guess that makes sense? Ish?” A stricken look suddenly crosses Lance’s face. “Hold the phone, are you saying...if this is a paladin bond thing...does that mean we’re _all_ gonna be ‘connected?’”

“I don’t know,” Shiro says, “I guess it’s a possibility…”

“Oh, no. No. _Hell_ no. That does _not_ sound like my idea of a good time.”

Shiro can’t help but laugh at Lance’s horrified expression.

“We’d better steer clear of strange space phenomena, then.”

“You bet.” Lance is quiet for a moment, then, without warning, pinches his own arm, hard. The sensation distinctly reverberates in Shiro’s own arm. “Did you feel that?”

“Ow. Yeah.” Shiro rubs at his arm, idly. “Guess we still haven’t quite kicked this, huh?”

“Maybe that means I’m gonna have to save you from doing something dumb again,” Lance says. “It did say that, didn’t it? I’ll need to bring you back, before it’s all over.”

“I’ll be counting on you, if that’s the case.”

Lance breathes a soft laugh.

“I told you, I’ve got your back.” Lance falls quiet again, folding his hands in his lap and staring down at them in a look of intent concentration. “Hey, Shiro, um, look. About what we were talking about, before.”

“Before?”

“Yeah, you know. Before. About, uh. How we...feel about each other. And stuff.”

“Sorry,” Shiro says, “I don’t remember.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“Wait, I think it’s coming back to me.” Shiro leans down, and presses a brief, chaste kiss to Lance’s lips. “Is that what you mean?”

Lance _stops_. For a moment Shiro fears he isn’t breathing, and then he’s afraid he’s gone too far, read something wrong, overstepped a line, or…

Suddenly Lance moves forward, throws his arms around Shiro’s shoulders, and leans up to kiss him in a way that is neither brief, nor chaste.

“Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

Shiro smiles, and cards his fingers through Lance’s hair.

“Do you still want to talk about it?”

Lance smiles, and kisses him again, a perfect, complete sensation, a circle of warmth humming between them before he says,

“I don’t think we need to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a wild ride.
> 
> I started this story as a challenge to myself - I wanted to prove that I could write something that was longer than a one-shot, and actually finish it. Along the way, the story changed and took on a mind of it's own, and became something very, very different from what I initially imagined. I'm not completely sure whether or not that's a good thing, but it is done, and I'm happy with that. 
> 
> Thank you for everyone that took the time to read this story! I'd love to read your comments, or you can come shout at me on Twitter - I'm starbearstudio. <3


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